We Forgot The Tomatoes
by Senorita TacoMal
Summary: Italy's acting distant around Germany lately, and Germany can't figure out why. He tries to cheer him up the only way he knows how without a pasta strainer: With a little help from Romano and Spain, gelato, and soccer. Based on the Buon San Valentino strips. Italy gets OOC for a little bit at the end of Chapter 2. GerIta, pre-relationship.
1. Life Needs Magical Bags of Flour

*Update 11/14/12:

Wow. Just, really, wow. I reread this story, and realized I hate it up until halfway through chapter three. It's probably because I wrote chapter four before everything else, and rushed through writing the rest. The plot, and especially the character progression, happens far too quickly for my taste.

I recommend skipping through until halfway through chapter 3. Or at least not judging me for crappy writing XD I plan to redo this one if I have time.*

* * *

What was wrong with Italy?

That question had plagued Germany's kind for the past week. Italy and his brother had been in town, staying at a nearby hotel. They _never_ stayed at a hotel when they were visiting. Sealand had come for a stay earlier in the week, but he'd returned to his "country" two days into the Italians' visit; they could have been staying with him. Sure, Romano wasn't his biggest fan, but Germany didn't think that that was the problem. The issue had pretty obviously originated in the northern part of the country, and whatever it was, it was causing his friend to be distant from him. Veneziano had been avoiding him like the plague, recently. When the two were forced to be near each other, he said as little as possible, just enough to get whatever needed to be said said, and whatever needed to get done done. Had Germany done or said something wrong? He couldn't get the thought off of his mind, but if Italy didn't want to be around him, he didn't know what he could do to fix it.

"Hey, West!" Prussia came into the foyer, irritatedly holding up a flour sack. "See this bag of empty flour? Yeah. It's not going to magically refill itself. I think you forgot the "soon" part of I NEED THIS FLOUR ASAP!"

"Ja, ja, I'm leaving now," Germany pulled open the front door. Prussia had sent him on a massive grocery run (somehow, whenever Germany's turn to go get groceries arose, they were on their last few meager portions of everything...) "Maybe we wouldn't have this issue if you, oh, maybe, _actually did your grocery shopping_."

Prussia rolled his eyes, but whatever retort he was planning was cut off from Germany's attention by his phone ringing and vibrating in his pocket. The name on it was... Romano?

"Hello?"

"Yeah, it's _Italy_ Romano," he said with extra emphasis. "Listen, I'm out of tomatoes, so come get me and Veneziano and Espagna so we can go to the store, ah?"

Germany sighed. Spending an afternoon with Romano was not his idea of the perfect shopping trip, but if Italy was coming, it could give him a chance to figure out what was wrong.

Or... it could be painfully awkward... judging by the fact that he could hear Veneziano protesting his attendance on the trip in the background. He could hear Romano yelling something about him going if he had to drag him, muffled as if his hand were over the microphone. When it sounded like Romano's ear was back on the speaker, Germany informed him that he would be there in ten minutes, and hit the red End Call button.

* * *

Ten minutes, practically on the dot, and Germany's SUV came to a stop in front of the hotel, where Romano, Spain, and a very reluctant-looking Veneziano piled in. The latter took the back, passenger-side seat, getting into the car wordlessly while the others walked around to the other side.

"Hey, Italy," Germany said, testing the air between them.

"Oh, hey, Germany," Italy replied. His voice had its normal carefree pitch, but the inflections made his greeting sound perfunctory. Nothing more was said between them, as Romano opened the door to take the back driver's-side seat.

"Scooch your booch, Romano!" Spain complained when it didn't look like he was going to move over to the hump seat. Romano whipped his head around; he wasn't aware that Spain was behind him in the first place. "If you think you're squishing the three of us back here together, you've got another thought coming, amico!" After a few more seconds of yelling, Spain sadly retreated to the front passenger's seat, claiming, "Romano, you're mean to me!"

Germany could have, and did, predict that this was no longer going to be just a trip to the grocery store. It felt like they stopped at every store in between the hotel and the supermarket. It started when Spain saw an ice cream shop, one whose ice cream, he'd heard, was legendary. They stopped to get some, Spain's treat, and continued on their way.

"Beautiful~!" Spain sung upon his first taste of the chocolate-mint swirl cone. "It's like an ice cream symphony in my mouth!"

"Yeah, this stuff isn't half bad," Romano agreed, licking into his double-chocolate cone. Germany's ear twitched at the sound of the Italian being agreeable for once. In fact, he had hardly said a single disagreeable thing since entering the car. "Veneziano, what do you think?"

Italy had gone for a sweet cream-flavored cup with a Reese's Pieces topping. "It's really good," he replied simply.

Germany wasn't satisfied with this response. Since when did Romano ask Italy's opinion on anything? Since when did anyone HAVE to ask Italy's opinion? He usually just shared it without anyone asking for it, with excruciating detail. His mood was bothering Germany exponentially more and more every time he did something that was out of character. He didn't know what to say to his friend, though, and since he was obviously the source of some of his discomfort, for whatever reason, he didn't want to exacerbate his suffering by trying to talk to him about it.

* * *

After hitting up another five or six stores on the way, Germany remembered his brother at home, who was now sure to be livid, and made it clear that he was not making any more stops until after the grocery store.

When they finally reached their destination, the two Italians and the Spaniard immediately made a beeline for the produce section, but Germany grabbed Romano by the arm before he could get too far.

"I need to talk to you," he murmured, bending down toward Romano's ear. The brunette nodded, and Germany grabbed a shopping cart. They started picking up groceries on the opposite side of the store, so they would have enough time and space to talk.

"What's wrong with Italy? What did I do?"

Romano already knew that Germany's intention was to ask him about his brother's mood. He inhaled and sighed. "I don't know why Veneziano's in this mood. He's been this way all week, and the only thing I know is that when he's not around you, he's a hell of a lot worse. He's been laying in bed, doing nothing this whole damn time, and it's really depressing and annoying, ah? When he's with you, at least he'll talk, and actually get off his lazy ass and do something. So what are you waiting for; do something to cheer him up already!"

"Why do you think I asked to talk to you?" Germany replied, irritated. This was going to get him nowhere. "Correct me if I'm wrong here, but it seems like he wants nothing to do with me in particular recently. Plus, I'm bad with things like emotions. I don't know how to cheer him up."

"Quit with the I-don't-know-how-to-make-Veni-happy bullshit nonsense," he said, waving his hand back and forth in his trademark disdainful way. "My fratellino is always going on about how much fun he's having with you. You know his sense of humor, too, so just do whatever you can to get a response out of him! You know as well as I do that once he starts smiling and laughing, he won't be able to stop."

"Right... I'll try..." Germany muttered, trying to think of how he was going to get that guy to lighten up. When it came down to it, Germany never _knew_ the right thing to do when dealing with emotions. In the case of Italy, fun just sort of... happened. He could plan something for a million years and get it wrong, but if they did something on a whim, it was guaranteed to be a good time.

This was going to be difficult.

* * *

*****I had Romano call Spain "Espagna" because since Spain raised him, I liked the idea of mixing the Spanish and Italian words for Spain (España and Spagna respectively.)*****


	2. How to Play Soccer the Right Way

*We've got some OOC Veneziano goin' on near the end here. Just a warning. Under the right circumstances, to his brother, he can be quite, well… like his brother.*

* * *

Even if he couldn't think of a way to make Italy happy, there was one thing he did get right: Prussia was pissed.

"AND YOU GOT ICE CREAM TOO! WHAT, DID YOU THEN GO SKIPPING THROUGH A FIELD OF DASIES IN LITTLE GIRLIE PINK DRESSES LIKE THE LITTLE GIRLIES YOU ARE?"

"And here Germany went through the trouble of getting you a pint all for yourself, and you're yelling at him? How saaad! Tragic, even," Spain commented, temptingly holding up the pint of ice cream that Germany had been hoping would keep Prussia off his case. It'd been bought at the grocery store, but it was the same good ice cream as they'd gotten from the standalone store they'd stopped at earlier.

Prussia growled in response. "Well... I guess I can let you off the hook this time. But you're carrying all of the groceries in by yourself!" He then walked off and up the stairs, back toward his room, with his pint of sweet, sweet love.

Germany gave his brother a long, bored look before turning back along with the others to start grabbing groceries. Well, at least he had three pairs of hands to help him. He and Spain brought the bags into the house while Romano and Veneziano put them away, with the latter's guidance. The mound of groceries was gone in a record amount of time, much faster than if he'd been alone. Seems that pissing off his brother was worth it.

It usually was.

"Hey, Germany, since we're going back out and all, can I leave the tomatoes here?" Spain asked, poking his head in the kitchen and holding up the plastic bag of tomatoes. "They're going to cook if we leave them in the car." Germany nodded, and Spain tossed them in the fridge.

To be honest, Germany didn't even hear what Spain had just asked him; he was too busy thinking over things related to Romano's request. _'How on earth am I supposed to cheer him up if he won't even talk to me? I don't want to worry him any further, but-'_

He jumped and almost yelled out when he received a hearty slap on the back from Spain. "Don't think about it so hard, cúmbila!" he drawled, at the same time making sure his voice wasn't too loud. "Veni is a simple guy, you know that! He gets cheered up just by talking to you. You're his best friend; just pay attention to him and you'll probably make him happy on accident! If you stay all preoccupied and silent with thinking, Romano and I are gonna be the only ones left actually hanging out!"

Germany grunted in response. "Ja. But if he won't even talk to me, how can I pay attention to him?"

"Mmm, honestly, if it were me, I would just treat him like everything's normal. Romano and I will help you, sí?"

Germany wasn't quite sure what Spain meant, but he got the general idea. Just keep trying to engage Italy in conversation, and he'd eventually have to open up. "Alright. I guess we can go to the mall now. HEY, BRUDER!"

"WHAAAT?" Prussia's muffled voice came from far away, muffled by distance and what was probably ice cream stuffed in his mouth.

"DO YOU WANT TO COME WITH US TO THE MALL?"

"NOOO, FUCK YOU GUYS!"

Spain laughed, and Germany rolled his eyes at his brother's crude humor. "Dummkoph... Alright, let's go."

* * *

Once again, the three foreign countries in the car seemed incapable of making it to their target destination without distraction. They somehow ended up driving to the park and wandering around for a bit. Then Romano wandered off after a pretty girl he saw. Freaking. Italians. It took them thirty minutes to finally locate him; the girl's father had apparently knocked him out and dumped his body behind some bushes. Then, after Romano was back up to par, as they were leaving by the exit next to the soccer field, the sole occupant of said field caught their attention.

He was a young boy, who looked to be of about age twelve or so, sitting in the grass near the goal, with a defeated posture. With nothing around to echo off of, the sounds of his sniffling just barely reached the group. They looked at one another, not sure what to do, but knowing they should do something. Spain, though, was quick to decide.

"You guys wait here; I'll be right back." He jogged over to the boy, got down on one knee, and placed a comforting hand on his back. "What's the matter, mijo?" he asked, throwing the Spanish ending on his German sentence by force of habit. He had a bad one of adding in certain Spanish words, no matter what language he was speaking.

"It's... It's nothing; I'm sorry, I'm fine," the boy tried to put a normal look back on his face, but that just wasn't happening with the redness around his eyes and his wet eyelashes.

"People who are fine don't normally sit in the middle of a soccer field crying," Spain pointed out.

"It's just... I'm no good at football. I keep trying so hard, but... I just never get any better... I wanted to get better, for my brother's sake. He always dreamed of joining the national team, of playing in the World Cup. He was really good, but he passed away... I wanted to live his dream for him, but..."

The other countries looked up to see Spain walking back toward them with the boy, and as he got within reasonable speaking distance, he smiled, putting an arm around his shoulder. "This young man, my friends, is Gunter. And we are going to teach him how to play fútbol the right way!"

* * *

Spain went on defense, Romano took the goal, and Veneziano and Germany were left to be the boy's teammates. After establishing what the boy knew about soccer, he began talking about the different plays he couldn't get. "Sehr gute. Show us one," Germany requested. "Italy, go on defense for a second."

The boy began bringing the ball up the field, barely managing to keep Spain (who was going easy) from taking the ball, before giving an off-aim pass to Germany. After bring it up a bit further, Germany passed back to Gunter, who lined it up for the goal, swung back to kick-

-And easily had the ball taken from him by Veneziano. A baby could have taken the ball from him at that point.

"That's what happens, every single time I get to that point, if there is someone around, I have no way to defend the ball."

"You have to keep the ball closer to you, or your leg closer to the ball, rather." Veneziano suddenly spoke up, making his longest sentence of the day without prodding. The other nations raised their eyebrows in surprise; after not hearing that voice all day, it was almost foreign to them. "When you go back for the kick, you're leaving too much room between you and the ball, and that means I can easily swipe it out from under you, see? You don't have to put a lot of backswing on the kick in order for it to be powerful, especially if you're this close to the goal." Italy continued explaining and showed the boy the correct posture for the "money shot", as he called it.

The rest of training went on like this, with each country sharing their tips. They themselves could easily have been the MVPs of their countries' national teams if they were just ordinary humans, so they were the most qualified tutors a twelve-year-old boy could have hoped to randomly run into in a park. Fortunately for Gunter, his biggest problems were form and strength; he had virtually no problem with attentiveness, reflexes, getting open, or anything else. Form was the easiest thing to change, and if he kept practicing doing things the right way, the strength would come naturally. He was going to make an excellent soccer player someday. Well. As long as Romano wasn't the one goaltending.

And fortunately for Veneziano, this experience was clearing his mind of the fog that had been locked over it for the past week. By about fifteen minutes in, he was completely back to behaving how he would normally, rambling on about nothing in his high-pitched voice, smiling, laughing. If there was one thing that could cheer him up just as much as Germany, it was soccer. Not even wine, pasta, or siestas compared.

Except, eventually, of course, a fork got thrown in the happiness.

* * *

Veneziano, paying attention to Gunter who was about to pass, didn't realize how quickly the distance between himself and Germany was closing, and they crashed into each other full-force with a yelp from both. Germany managed to avoid the worst of it; he had his knee forward when they crashed into each other, but the Italian was the one who took the business end of that knee, right in the stomach. He fell backwards, then curled up into a ball in the grass.

Germany was horrified. _'Shit, after he was just starting to have fun again, I screwed everything back up!' _Seeing the Italian in pain also wasn't doing much to help his mind.

"Veni!"

"Fratellino!"

The two other countries and boy came rushing over. The collision was hard, and sounded like it must've been painful.

"Are you okay, Italy!"

"Sí... I'm fine..." he rasped. "Just give me a minute..."

Germany didn't give him that option. Looking down, he noticed that Italy had fallen next to an anthill, and its residents were in a frenzy of panic, grief, and fury. He put his left arm on his friend's back, scooping his hand around his shoulder, did the same thing under his knees, and lifted him from the ground.

"C-c-c-cosa stai facendo, Germania!" he demanded to know what Germany was doing in very rapid, flustered Italian.

Germany looked down at his friend's face. He'd seen him panic before, but his face looked a little more flushed than he'd remembered. Must've just been running around in the heat for so long. Germany hadn't exactly been staring at him earlier, so maybe he was just now realizing it. "I'm carrying you over to the bench so you can drink some water," Germany replied simply. "Plus, you fell right next to an anthill."

Italy's face turned even redder, but Germany had stopped looking at it by that point, and didn't notice. Italy didn't protest anymore, just made a noise of acknowledgement, and tried not to draw attention back to his face.

"I'm sorry that I ran into you like that..." Germany started, just to break the silence at first, but he continued on speaking. "You were just starting to act normal, and I messed that up. But I am still happy that we were able to come out here and play. It put you in a much better mood." They reached the bench, where Germany gently sat Italy down, and poured him a cup of water from a nearby park-provided cooler. "I don't know why you're upset," he took a seat to the left of Italy, and began picking grass out of the brunette's hair, and brushing it off of his shirt, "but I don't like seeing you like this. For you to be unhappy for so long, it's just not natural. And I fear that I have done something to make you upset, so if I have, I'm sorry."

"You haven't," Italy replied softly between sips of water. "It's just me, being silly." Germany had the thought to ask what Italy meant by that, but his friend was only finally talking, and he didn't want to do anything to change that. If Italy wanted to elaborate, he would. Germany wasn't going to interrupt him. "You could never make me upset, Germany. And me running into you wasn't anyone's fault; we were too busy looking at the ball."

Back over on the field, the three watched the two on the bench talking.

Gunter sighed. "I feel so bad; if you guys hadn't been helping me, Feliciano wouldn't have gotten hurt."

"Nah, don't be," Romano replied, with his trademark handwave. "It's the best d- best thing that's happened all day," he said with a small smile, correcting himself before he swore in front of the boy.

"We are probably going to call it quits for today, though," Spain decided. "Your tía will worry if you come home any later."

"Yeah, true. Thank you guys so much! And tell Ludwig and Feliciano I thank them too!" he said as he started running toward home.

"You can thank us by being in the 2020 World Cup!" Romano shouted after him.

"Man, what a kid," Spain said to Romano. "His mother, father, older brother and sister... he lost everything, and he's still trying his hardest to do so much."

"Just means he'll succeed even harder. It's like bungee jumping. The further you go down, the higher the cord snaps you back up, ah?"

"Last time I checked, a certain Italian was afraid of bungee jumping-"

"Shut up you tomato bastard!" Man, it felt good to be able to swear again. And ruin touching moments. Speaking of which, there was one more touching moment on the other side of the field that had been left untouched. He turned his attention back toward his brother and the "other one". "HEY! IF YOU TWO LOVEBIRDS ARE DONE MAKING OUT, WE'VE GOT A MALL TO HIT UP!"

"GO DIE IN A HOLE, ROMANO!" came back the sharp reply from his brother. Romano's eyebrows went straight to the stratosphere. "Yeesh, fiesty much? He must've hit his head on that anthill." Spain looked scared at the sudden outburst. "Ahh, come on, you know he gets like that occasionally. Guess he has to prove he has some balls some of the time."

But Romano had a bad feeling about what this might've meant. There were very, very few things that would make his brother reply violently. One of them was when he'd been without tomatoes for a while, but he usually just got more competent, rather than grouchy, when that happened. That wasn't the one on Romano's mind anyway. Whenever he teased his brother about a crush, while he was worked up about her, he would snap back at him.

_'Nahhh, there's no way,' _Romano shook the idea from his head. _'He loves that potato bastard, but there's no way he _loves _him. Ugh. Creepy.'_

On the other side, Germany was equally surprised at Italy's... well... Romano-like retort, but the smaller country seemed to quickly get over it. "Heheh... Sorry~" he said, scratching a sheepish grin.

"Are you okay to walk?" Germany asked as their friends continued their long-delayed journey to the park exit.

"My stomach still feels a bit bad," Italy admitted, voice sound slightly weaker than it had a few seconds ago. Germany immediately got off of the bench and kneeled in front of Veneziano, with his back faced toward him.

"Hop on."

Normally, he would have jumped right on his back, but Germany could sense that he wasn't even moving. "Are you alright?" Germany asked.

"Y-yes." He got up and onto Germany's back gently, wrapping his arms around Germany's clavicle. The strong obliques felt warm and welcome against his thighs, and he rested his chin on his friend's left shoulder. "Hey, Germany?" he said softly, in a tone that stirred something strange inside of the German, and gave his head the faint feeling of an oncoming headache.

"Yes?"

"Thanks for being so kind to me today. I mean, you've tried to make me happy all day, somehow got all of that grass out of my hair, and now this..."

"It makes me unhappy to see _you_ unhappy, much less injured," Germany replied, in a low tone that mimicked Italy's in gentleness. "And now that you are in a better mood, I'd like to do whatever I can to keep it that way."

There was silence for a second. Germany thought he felt something rhythmic on his back, but he must have been imagining it.

"Then... Germany... Would you be-"

"HURRY IT UP, ROMEO; WE DON'T HAVE ALL DAY!" Romano's shout came again.

"I SWEAR TO GOD AND THE POPE THAT WHEN I FEEL BETTER, I AM GOING TO KICK YOU LIKE THE PALLONE DA CALCIO, ROMANO!" Italy's threat to kick his brother like a soccer ball sent Germany's ear ringing. "Ah; I'm so sorry Germany! Sometimes when I get stressed out I start acting like my brother, and I didn't mean to shout in your ear, and-"

"It's okay, it's okay," Germany calmed him. "Now, what was it you were going to ask me?"

"Ah... that... don't worry about it," Italy said in a reassuring tone. With the mood killed, his confidence had also flown away the evening air.

"You sure? Like I said, if you need anything, I can do it."

"No, no, I'm fine."

"Well, alright, if you're positive."

They caught up to Romano and Spain, where Veneziano pretended to look tired, long enough to coax his brother within striking distance of his foot, then kicked him in the back with moderate force. The two argued lightly for several seconds, before the argument dissolved into heartfelt laughter. Spain was chipper as usual, and even Germany was grinning. Things were finally back to normal.

His best friend was back!

* * *

*Normally I don't worry about adding a glossary, because I try to either explain the text in the story, use text that the majority of people (at least, in the U.S.) should understand, or use it in a way that the meaning can be implied, but not everyone may know what I know, so glossary for you~!*

Bruder: Obviously, "brother" [German] (I include this one because I seriously did not know until I needed to know the German word for brother. I always just thought people writing it were trying to make it read like a German accent.)

"C-c-c-cosa stai facendo, Germania!": "W-w-what are you doing, Germany!" [Italian]

Cúmbila: Buddy [Spanish]

Clavicle: Those two bones at the base of your neck [English, as far as I know.] (Just included it because it's an anatomy term that some people might not know)

Dummkoph: Idiot [German]

Fratellino: Little brother [Italian]

Fútbol: Soccer [Spanish] (I always want to say football in a Spanish accent when I'm referring to soccer XD IDK why.)

Mijo: My son [Spanish] Slang combination of "mi" and "hijo".

Pallone da calcio: Soccer ball [Italian]

Sehr gute: Very good [German]

Tía: Aunt [Spanish]


	3. Red Roses

*Marked the beginning of the part I like with a *******.*

* * *

"You call him Italy just to annoy me, don't you, you wurst-loving asshole?"

Germany was admiring some Italian beer mugs instead of paying attention to Romano, who since his brother was feeling better, was back in his normal sour mood, picking a fight about any random thing he could in order to make up for time he'd lost while being civil. They'd finally made it to the mall, and were currently in a store that sold random goods imported from Italy; a favorite of the Italian brothers, who liked to see what sort of things from their country interested Germans. The store sold anything from the cheapest snacks to the most expensive clothes.

Japan had referred to the store as an "antenna shop," since there was no short term for such a store, and when asked by Germany what that meant, described it as "gotochi." Even after asking for an explanation for the new word, Germany didn't really fully understand what that meant, but didn't really care enough for Japan to go on an elaborate explanation. Usually, when Japan tried to explain things, the cultural difference was so great that Germany ended up more confused than he'd started.

Back to Romano. "No, it's mostly because I met him first and got used to calling him Italy. Also, you hate me anyway, so I don't really care if I piss you off any more," Germany retorted nonchalantly, without even turning around, instead picking up a particularly cool-looking mug and analyzing it. "Plus, all I'm doing is calling him by his first name and you by your last name. If I really wanted to annoy you, I'd call you by your 'legal' name all the time, _Herr Vargas._"

Romano sucked his teeth in disdain. The countries rarely used those names seriously. For the longest time, Prussia would only call Hungary "Elizabeta" for the longest time when rubbing salt in the wound of finding out that she was female. The countries would also use them when they were trying to hide their identities, for ease of use with humans, or—depending on the country—when they were stone drunk. Neither America nor Britain would never live down that time that France dragged the latter out of a bar, sobbing his eyes out, screaming "ALFRED! DADDY LUVZYOU! I'LL NE'ER LEV Y'EGAIN!" as America looked like he wanted to climb under the bar and die, and Canada attempted to comfort him.

"Germany, look at this!"

Germany suddenly found his left hand in a smoother one, being pulled away from the alcohol glasses. Since opening back up, he'd noticed that Italy had become super clingy. Not his normal lack-of-the-knowledge-of-the-concept-of-personal-space friendly, strangely friendly. For example, just now: Instead of just getting the German's attention and calling him over, Italy had come all the way over, grabbed him by the hand, and pulled him over. It seemed like he was using every excuse he could to be in contact with his friend. Germany was curious about this new behavior, but he'd learned long ago not to put too much thought into the meaning behind Italy's actions… because there usually wasn't one.

They stopped in front of the jewelry counter, where Italy pointed out his great find. "Look, Germany! Does that remind you of anything?"

It was obviously different than the one he'd had made for Italy, but before him laid a ring with a tomato as its main feature. Oh yeah it reminded him of something. Something he'd never wanted to remember, and never wanted Italy to remember, either.

"I really liked that ring you gave me," Italy continued chipperly, unaware of Germany's inner turmoil. Italy had yet to let go of his hand, and Germany suddenly became super aware of this. He wanted to break his hand away from the Italian's, but the impulse to take it away just fizzled away in his brain. As he became more and more helpless to move it, hormones started coursing through his body, creating an energy that he could feel all the way down to the narrowest of his capillaries. Italy's hand felt like he was holding onto nothing more than pixie dust, and his heart started thudding as if someone had set the inside of his chest on fire, and it was trying desperately to escape.

"Germany?"

Hearing his name brought him back to attention. Italy had just said something to him. "Ja, sorry?"

"I was just saying that those were some pretty good times. You were really super nice to me. I wish it could be like that again."

Oh that naïve, naïve country. Germany couldn't believe that he was still oblivious to what actually happened.

Something in Germany almost had the nerve to reply with "ja", but the German smacked that impulse. Hard. Until it wasn't moving. "I felt like such an idiot. It was so stupid."

"Stupid…?" Italy repeated. "What was?"

"That ring, how I was acting… I mean, the whole thing, really, was just a stupid misunderstanding, don't you agree?"

"Yeah… stupid… Hey, uh, I'll… I'll be right back." And suddenly, Germany's hand was empty.

The look on Italy's face was a far cry from the casual tone of his voice. Germany didn't think he'd ever seen him look that serious and bothered at the same time. Usually if he was worrying about something, he'd be completely hysterical about it, not quietly brood.

He walked away from the German, and quickly out the door. "Italy, where are you going all of a sudden?" Germany called after him.

Romano, who looked up at what Germany had said, was able to see his face more clearly than Germany was. He looked like he was about to cry. "Veni…?" he asked he nor Germany got a reply; Italy just strided out of the store and headed to the right, as if he hadn't heard him.

"Jeez… what is it this time?" Germany found his friend's actions completely confusing and very frustrating. He was frustrated at himself as well, for doing something that. His palm was on his forehead, fingers lightly gripping his slicked-back hair.

Spain had the same question, coming over to meet the others on the other side of the store. "Is something wrong with Veni? He just flew out of here like a bat out of hell, no?"

Romano sighed. He'd heard the conversation between Germany and Italy. With what Italy had said, his face as he stormed out, his earlier violent outbursts, his week-long emofest, and that thing he had revealed to him earlier in the week… Romano was unable to deny any longer that two plus two is four. But… how to go about telling Germany without revealing his revelation?

"Alright, look, you dense potato bastard," Romano exhaled, as he thought about how to word his confession. "I might've left something out of our earlier conversation." He paused to wait for Germany's response, which was a cocked eyebrow. "Veneziano learned about what happened that Valentine's Day."

It took Germany a second to realize what Romano was talking about, even though he and Italy had just been discussing it, but when he did, he realized it hard.

"He told me what happened, about a week ago, right around when he started acting mopey. I don't know why he's acting awkward about it all of a sudden if it happened decades ago." He lied about not knowing why. He very well knew why, and didn't understand how Germany couldn't see it now. "He didn't want me to tell you, but if it helps you make him stop acting like a bitch, I don't care. I'm tired of this shit, already."

"What happened on Valentine's Day?" Spain asked, not remembering it. Back then, he'd heard that Germany was acting weird, but that insignificant memory had been long ago lost in the flow of time. Romano raised an eyebrow toward Germany.

"Tell him. I don't care; it was a long time ago." Germany permitted through gritted teeth. He was more interested in his friend's welfare, at the moment. "I'm going to go find Italy."

* * *

He found him quickly, on a hunch. Italy was just outside of the mall, hands in pockets, slumped back on a bench to Germany's right when he exited. He was staring up at the night sky; not many stars were visible, as it wasn't completely dark yet, but there were enough to satisfy the eyes of someone who was lost in thought. _Eyes… _Italy's eyes were open. He _never _opened his eyes when anyone could see his face. The only exception to this was the time they were about to part ways for a long time. Germany wasn't sure what to make of this fact, but he knew it only added to the abnormality of the situation.

"Italy," he started, towering above his friend.

"I'm sorry," Italy chuckled lightly, then sniffled. He didn't appear to be crying, but he was blinking a bit more than a normal person would. "I'm just being weird."

"Italy, will you please tell me what's wrong?" He wanted to cut straight to the chase.

"I'll be fine in a little bit. You can go back inside with the others."

If he kept trying to get Italy to reveal whatever was bothering him on his own, they were going to be there for the next two years. So he _teleported _to the chase. "I know you know about Valentine's Day."

"My fratello told you?" Italy's eyes closed and he made the normal face he made when he felt betrayed, and his voice was high-pitched and panicked, as usual.

"Ja. He said he didn't know what it has to do with how you're acting now, but that you started behaving this way after telling him, so does that have something to do with it?"

Italy didn't reply; instead he looked sheepishly down at his feet, re-opening his eyes. Germany incorrectly took this as his way of saying "yes"

"I'm sorry…" Germany said, blushing as the humiliation he'd received came back to mind. "In Germany, the custom for Valentine's Day is-"

"I know," Italy cut him off. "I know everything.

* * *

{Ten days prior…}

Italy and Pookie VI were not getting along.

She swatted at his hand as he tried to reach and pull her out from under Germany's bed. The owner of said bed was in his office, working, while Italy played around the house.

"I'm sorry, Pookie; I promise I'll share my wurst with you next time; I swear!"

His wrist bone bumped painfully against a stack of books. "Ohi!" he yelled out, pulling his arm out to rub the sore nub. When the pain died down, he went back under. He'd accidentally shifted the stack of books, so now their spines were visible, and he was drawn to read the titles.

"Best Dating Advice Book… Dating for Germans… Woah, Germany has dating books? I didn't think he was interested in a thing like that!"

Forgetting about his annoyed cat, he pulled out the stack of books instead. They all had bookmarks partway through, and Italy opened up the first to see the subject.

_"If the person you are dating is very romantic, and you are afraid of being 'inferior,' don't be."_ The book went on to talk about the subject, and Italy agreed with what it said, but quickly got bored with it. Next he went with the Dating for Germans book.

_"If you are interested in dating an Italian, here's what you should know:"_

"Ooh~ What's this?" Italy's curiosity was peaked. Opening up a few more titles, he saw that they all, where applicable, had pages bookmarked that dealt with dating Italians, or similar persons.

"How could he!" Italy huffed to himself. "Germany's interested in an Italian girl, and he didn't even ask for my help! These books are old and outdated, anyway! Romance must be even more embarrassing to Germans than I thought."

He'd opened a book and placed it on his lap absent-mindedly.

_"Sometimes men in a homosexual relationship may have a hard time-"_

Italy stopped, confused, and skimmed the rest of the page, then glanced at the page before. The bookmark was well into the section about gay relationships. _'What book is this?'_ he pondered in his head, flipping to the front cover.

A Guide to Homosexual Relationships

_'So, Germany is interested in… a guy? Maybe he was interested in a guy at one point and a girl at another time? Or maybe it's one person, but an Italian guy? Maybe that's why he felt like he had to hide it. Silly Germany; I'd still like him the same even if he liked men."_

Italy suddenly realized something. It was just a memory, a thought, and a question, in rapid succession. The entire realization lasted less than a fifth of a second. But it was powerful. Powerful enough to make Italy go and seek out someone who could give him an answer to that question.

"Prussia?"

He was lazing in front of the couch, munching on a cookie he'd bought from some store. "Hm?" he replied through his nose, cookie still in mouth.

"What does a Valentine's Day present of red roses mean in Germany?"

"Hm… Well, here, Valentine's Day has always really been a holiday between just lovers, but I guess you could get away with it in modern times, if you made sure to elaborate that it was just a friendly thing."

"Thanks," Italy said, and left back toward Germany's room. He figured he should put the books away before Germany found out he'd seen them.

_'So then, that time… that year…' _As he put the books away, he checked the copyright date inside of one of them. No mistake. These books were from that time. _'No wonder he was acting so weird! He thought I was asking- he thought I wanted to- And he accepted it…?' _The Italian's heard let out a single long, slow thump._'And then he tried to propose to me… does that mean that he… Germany fell in love with me?' _Thump. _'He fell in love with someone like me…?'_

By now, the hormones were also kicking in. Germany had always been there for him, and no matter how useless he was, no matter how many times he messed up, no matter how much he rambled about pointless stuff. Germany always picked up the slack, fixed it all, and listened. But not without trying to drive him to better himself. Italy seldom did get better, but Germany still loved him for the pathetic excuse of a person he was, and would never stop trying to drive him to places he never thought he could go.

_'Germany, I…' _Italy smiled to himself, hugging a few of the books tightly to his chest. _'I never thought about it, because I never thought it could happen, but… if you still wanted to be by my side, I'd… I think I'd really like that…'_

Italy sighed as he thought again. All of that happened a long time ago. And since Germany had returned to his normal self, he'd never given a single other hint that would suggest that he had any of the same feelings for his friend. And after scores of years to meditate on exactly how worthless his friend was…

_'And there was that really big fight…' _Italy painfully remembered the decades after he'd switched sides in World War II. He'd been annoyed with Germany then, but those were admittedly the worst years of his life, having the guy who was once his best friend be furious at him.

With all of that, there was no way Germany could even have a modicum of romantic feelings left for him. Italy depressedly put the books away, and this time Pookie came out on her own free will, comfortingly rubbing up against her person.

"Thanks, Pookie," Italy murmured, scratching her back gently. He had a lot to think about.

* * *

*****Since I didn't explain it in the fic: "Gotochi" is a Japanese term for things that originated or can usually only be found in a certain place, but are brought to another place. For example, an antenna grocery store in Tokyo might have things you could normally only find somewhere in Hokkaido.*****


	4. Something the World Needs to Know

"So, if you know everything, you know that it was just a misunderstanding then, right?"

Italy shrunk even further down into the bench, the word 'misunderstanding' continuing to run through his head. He continued to refuse to look at anything but the ground. "I know."

Germany sighed. "I'm really sorry for the whole thing, and I know it's awkward, but I can't change the past. There's nothing more I can do but tell you it was a misunderstanding and won't-"

"That's not the problem!" Italy interjected loudly, not wanting to hear Germany finish that sentence. _'The problem is what you were about to say: It won't happen again.'_

"Well, does it have to do with what happened back then on Valentine's Day?"

"Yes…" Italy finally told a truth.

But now Germany was more than confused. He'd been sure the Italian was feeling awkward about being around another guy who had feelings for him. "Well, if that wasn't the problem, what is? Italy," he got down on one knee in front of his friend, forcing himself to be in front of Italy's face. "I can't do anything to help if you don't tell me what's wrong."

"There's nothing you can do to help, either way. And if I tell you, it will just make things worse, and you'll probably hate me, so…"

_'How could he say that...!' _"Italy… Do you _really_ think that anything you say or do could make me hate you? I didn't even hate you when you switched sides during World War Two. I was mad, yes, but I never hated you. I missed you so much during those years…" Germany admitted, for no reason in particular. Maybe sharing his feelings would help the Italian open up. "Losing you as a friend felt so horrible that my feelings of anger and betrayal paled to the point of _transparency _in comparison. And whatever it is you're hiding from me, it couldn't possibly be worth going through that lonliness again."

Germany noticed that Italy had started trembling and biting his lips, holding back a cascade of words. "Italy, please, just let it out. I hate seeing you this way."

Italy finally stopped holding back and spoke, but he was talking excessively rapidly, the way he did when he didn't want Germany to hear what he was saying. Added onto that was the fact that his voice was frantic.

"Mi piaci molto e sei la cosa più cara che ho e ti voglio sempre avere al mio fiaco però sei importante per me e non voglio perdenti così-" at this point he was hysterical, face beat red, eyes clenched tightly together. His speech finally slowed down on the final few words, the only ones that Germany understood: "per favore non mi odianoooooo!"

Germany blinked at the mess of Italian in front of him, who'd curled up into a silent ball, tightly hugging his knees.

"Italy, like I said, I would never hate you. But other than that, I didn't understand a word you just said; you were speaking too fast."

"I can't repeat it," he said into his thighs. "It doesn't mean anything anyway-"

"GodDAMNIT, fratellino!" came a shout from across the road. Both countries looked up in surprise, although they quickly recognized the voice and the figure marching toward them. "If you're going to admit something like that, do it right, damnit!" Spain was right behind him, pulling on his arm, making a futile attempt to stop Romano from intervening. "I already figured out what this is about, so you're not getting off easy now! Quit the bullshit, quit the moping, quit doing it half-assed, and just get it over with! Now. Espagna and I are going to leave. We are going to be back in five minutes. And if you haven't told the kraut what you said by then, I WILL! You have the mind of a twenty-year-old, not a grade-schooler, but if you're going to act like one, I'll treat you like one!" With that ultimatum, he stormed back into the mall; this time, he was the one pulling Spain's arm.

Silence.

Suddenly, a flurry of movement next to Germany caught him off guard. Italy had just jumped up, and began sprinting away at full speed.

"Italy!" Even caught off-guard, his reflexes were quick. He was on his feet in an instant, and barely managed to get a good hold of Italy's shirt in less than five seconds. The Italian was fast when he meant business about running away.

"Mein Gott, Italy, what's come over you?" Germany's confusion level was at its peak. Italy was _still_ trying to escape, digging his fingers in between Germany's in an attempt to pry them apart and free his shirt, but the German's fingers and need to know what the hell was going on were just too strong.

"I... I can't... I just can't... I can't tell you!" Italy gave up. He began to sink to his knees in apparent surrender, but the other country caught him before he hit the ground. He refused to try to stand up or otherwise move, so Germany, by now used to all of Italy's little idiosyncrasies, picked him up, threw him over his shoulder, and returned him to the bench without comment. He realized while carrying him that he had begun shaking again, rather violently this time. Whatever was plaguing Italy's mind was something very serious. Maybe, if he was so afraid of Germany hating him, it actually was something really bad, something that Germany would be better off knowing.

_'No…' _Germany knew that this couldn't be the case. What he'd told Italy was absolutely true; every last word of it. _'I don't think that even if I tried my hardest, I could hate him.'_

Four minutes passed that way, sitting on the bench, Italy back in his silent, trembling ball. Then, he finally made some barely audible noise. Germany looked down at the country, who didn't make another sound for a second, then started speaking.

"I guess... it's better to hear it from me than Romano..."

Germany tried to respond in a way that put as little pressure on his friend as possible. "Go ahead," he said simply.

"What I said was... I realized… After I found out what your actions on Valentine's Day meant, and that you'd come to have feelings for me, I realized that I have feelings for you too…"

Germany's hearing almost cut out right then. _'So... that's what... he... this whole time...' _The only thing that brought his attention back is the fact that his own brain was speechless, so it absorbed Italy's words instead.

"You're really important to me... I don't know what I'd do without you... You're always there for me, and you care about me, and you're willing to put up with me even when I'm being useless, and you make me so happy... That's why... that's why I didn't want to tell you. Because if this messed up what we have right now... I don't think I could take it... You're more important to me than how I feel about you... I don't want to lose you... And I know you don't think about me in that way anymore, so it's pointless of me to even bring this up, but please... I beg you... don't stop being my friend just because of this…"

He was still in the process of absorbing everything that was just said, but, in his chest, Germany could feel his heart start melting and revealing some things he hadn't felt in several decades.

"Italy... you..." he managed to stammer. This was one of those times when Germany wished he had the charisma of someone else, someone who knew what to say in every situation, knew how to grow smiles and dry tears. But he didn't. He had the charisma of a log. But he did have one trick up his sleeve. The way to comfort an Italian freaked out of his mind. The rest... he'd have to make up as he went along.

Italy gasped softly as he felt two strong arms wrap around his shoulders and pull him close, and someone nuzzle into the skin between his neck and shoulder. Surely that couldn't be Germany. Germany didn't _nuzzle._

"What you said was partially right..." Germany murmured softly, in a calming voice. He could feel the nervous energy begin to leave Italy, but uncertainty still radiated from him. "Those feelings... I locked them away... but that was only because I thought I was being a complete idiot." The whole closeness thing was getting a little weird for Germany, so he sat back up, going back to his rigid, awkward posture. He couldn't say this in any other posture but that one. "I mean to say… They're probably not completely gone. If they could come out from something like a misunderstanding over a present, I think that... um… if you'd be willing to help me... I could unlock them again..."

It was Italy's turn to be completely speechless. Germany was now the one looking away, his face also red.

"I... I don't know what to say, for once..." Italy said, rather flatly and calmly. To completely juxtapose his tone, he continued, "I'm excited and scared and I want to jump up and scream and cry from happiness at the same time. I never thought you would maybe still like me a little. I was kinda hoping, but I never thought you would. Germany-!" The excitement was starting to edge its way into his voice now, "Does this mean you'll be my boyfriend!"

Germany's breath hitched in his throat. Why'd he have to say it in such a direct way, and let the whole parking lot hear as well! Well, blunt or euphemistically, shouted or whispered, what was true was true, right? "J-ja." Germany felt something pull on his face, and he realized it was the corners of his mouth turning up into a smile. "I would like that."

"WHAOW~!" Italy suddenly rocketed into the air, pumping his fist as high as it would go. "HEY WORLD, GUESS W-"

A hand went over his mouth and an arm around his neck instinctively. Just because it was true no matter what volume it was spoken at didn't mean Germany _wanted _the attention of everyone in a fifty-mile radius. "Dummkopf! Do you want the whole world to-"

"Obviously," Italy said into Germany's hand, looking back with eyes open, and giving him a wink.

Germany blushed as he looked into Italy's cute face. 'Cute'. It'd been a while since he'd allowed himself to think that. But the fact that it wasn't hard to admit must've meant that those thoughts weren't as locked down as he'd previously thought.

Italy turned around to face Germany, and placed his arms around his neck, one eye still open. "I mean, when you're dating a guy as awesome as you, you want the whole world to know that you're his, and he's yours." He slowly began closing the space between his lips and Germany's...

...Which caused the latter country to freak out and back away awkwardly. Italy's eyes went wide in surprise, then in the next second he started laughing. Very, very hard.

"W... what's so funny?" Germany asked, flustered. The attempt on his lips had kicked up a new flurry of emotions.

"It's just... that was... that was such a Germany-like response, it..." he dissolved into a fit of laughter, unable to say another word.

Germany couldn't help but snicker, then chuckle lightly. Italy was right; who else would freak out like that but him? "And who else but you would make a move like that so quickly?"

"Me?" Italy said still grinning. "If I remember correctly, you outright _proposed _to me a few weeks into our "relationship"."

Germany's face went completely red at this. That had nearly been the most embarrassing moment of his life, only vindicated by the fact that at the time, Italy had no idea what had happened. But it had happened so long ago that by now, it was funny. The two finally settled on a heartfelt hug, but it didn't last long.

"Finally. I was beginning to think you didn't have the balls to do it, fratellino. And it looks like the potato bastard took it well."

"Ooh~! I can't believe you two are dating nowww!" Spain cooed.

"Did Veneziano tell you what he actually said?" Romano asked, coyly. He wasn't sure how keen he was going to be on this whole guy-I-hate-dating-my-brother thing, but in the meantime, he could at least tease his fratellino about it.

"Acutally, I was wondering the same thing," Germany asked. "I thought I heard some different words in there."

"Eh... I kind of paraphrased it..." Italy admitted. "What I said originally sounded really sappy when I thought about it again."

"Oh? Well, what was it?" Germany asked.

"Please don't worry about it-"

"I really like you and you are the dearest thing I have and I always want you by my side but you are important to me and I don't want to lose you so please don't hate meeeeee!" Romano mocked, in a tearful, whiny voice, grinning evily when his brother yelled "Fratello!" angrily in response.

"Awww, come on Veni; that's so adorable~!" Spain grinned squeezing the younger of the two brothers tightly. "Anyway, I think that since Veneziano is back to his normal self, we can declare: Mission Accomplished! So let's head home!"

The other three agreed, and group got in the SUV and headed home. Spain and Romano were dropped off at the hotel, and Italy went to stay with Germany. This was the second-to-last night they would be in town, so Italy wanted to make up for lost time.

* * *

"Hey, you got your Italian back," noted Prussia, when they got home. "Did you two finally kiss and make up?" He made a smoochie-smoochie gesture to tease his brother.

"Made up, yes. But we still have the kissing to do," Italy commented with a smile, before leaving toward Germany's room, leaving said German to explain.

Prussia, not quite expecting that response, was frozen in place. "He- what... West, you two aren't-"

Germany smirked. "This is when I wish I had something really cool to say to make you shut your face."

Prussia's eyes went half lidded. "Do I need to stay somewhere else tonight...?"

"You idiot!" Prussia barely dodged a vase that Germany threw with dead aim. He'd know the answer was "no"; Germany just wasn't that kind of person. _'I'd bet Spain twenty euros that Italy's not even going to get to kiss the guy before he leaves. Poor, poor kid.'_

* * *

Back in the hotel, Spain and Romano finally laid down to relax after the day's events.

"I can't believe my brother's in love with a damn potato freak," Romano sighed as he fell onto the bed. "I'm gonna need a helluva lot of pasta and wine to make this one go away…"

"I go make you some right now!" Spain offered, heading into the small kitchenette. "Let's see, we got the pasta, a good pan- Oh crap."

"What is it?" Romano inquired.

Spain looked like he was about to cry. "We never got our tomatoes back from Prussia's house!"

"WHAAAAAATTT!" Romano cried loudly. Knocking came from the left wall, above, and below, as angry guests responded to their noisy neighbor. "SHUT UP!" Romano yelled back. "THIS IS A TOMATO EMERGENCY!"

"Should we try to go over and get them?"

"Like hell I'm going over there now!"

* * *

A couple of days and a solved international tomato crisis later (Germany actually discovered the forgotten tomatoes and brought them over, knowing Romano was probably about to die,) the time did come for him and his new boyfriend to part. If you'd told Germany to imagine two days and nights with Italy, snuggling in bed, feeding each other snacks, and Italy himself generally being cutesier than normal, Germany's head would have exploded, and he would have killed you. In that order. But any awkwardness was overwritten by the same feeling that had arisen the last time he was this sweet with Italy: Happiness.

"Well, this is our last real bit of time together," Italy said sadly, hoping to bring up the subject of kissing again without _really _bringing it up.

But Germany was thinking the same thing. Once they got to the airport, they wouldn't exactly be able to be all over each other. He knew what Italy wanted.

"We don't have to kiss, do we?" Germany said, hoping Italy would catch the inside joke.

He did catch it, and he replied with eyes open and a sweet smile. "Nope! Unless you want to."

"I do," Germany replied. He was still nervous, but was willing to put that aside for the moment. He remembered a thing or two from those books he'd pulled out again. Although Italy had told him to discard them because they were so old (and Italy was there to help him this time,) kissing was kissing no matter what year it was, right?

Italy moved closer, hands moving to Germany's shoulders standing slight up on his toes. He wasn't that much shorter than Germany-only about three inches, but standing on the balls of his feet would make things a little easier. His eyes closed again gently as he leaned forward, and they made perfect contact.

There was something that seemed textbook about Germany's kissing style: The way he put his hands evenly on Italy's hips, let Italy lead the kiss, since he knew better what he was doing, and how he mimicked what those soft, sweet lips were doing against his. As basic as it seemed, it lead the kiss to not being awkward at all, and they were both able to melt away in each other's arms. Italy allowed his hands to slip forward and wrapped his arms around Germany's neck, and Germany did the same around his waist, inhaling sharply at the increased contact.

Italy decided that tongues were a thing for another day, so after a good five or so minutes of lip-on-lip contact, they pulled apart with a light, wet, sensual, smacking sound.

"How did you like that?" Italy asked softly. He'd been running his hand through the German's hair, and moved a hand to smooth down any strands he'd pushed out of place.

"It was amazing…" Germany suddenly felt empty from the lack of contact, and moved to place another quick kiss on Italy's lips.

"Oh come _on_" said a third voice, making the two spin apart instantly toward the direction from which it had come. "You guys just came up for air, and you're going at it again; sheesh! Well, I guess I totally lost twenty euros on that bet… Good on you though, West."

"Bruder…" Germany growled. Now he understood Italy's reaction to being teased by his older brother perfectly. "You have five seconds…"

Prussia simply laughed and began to sashay up the stairs to his room. "Yes, yes, the awesome Prussia is so very scared of you, jüngerer Bruder. So scared that I'm totally not going to send this video of your first kiss to Spain, and France, and… oh, all the other countries."

"I'LL TEAR YOU APART!" Germany took off like wildfire, and Prussia began running for real. "GET BACK HERE SO I CAN GAS YOU!"

Italy couldn't help but laugh as the older German's laughs and the younger's threats rang through the house as well as their thunderous footsteps. Eventually, there was a loud thud, and Italy knew Prussia had been caught. "Well… I should probably stop him from killing him," he said with a grin, and went to go pry his boyfriend off of Prussia and bring him back to where he belonged: In his arms.


End file.
